The Stephen King Formula
Imagine, if you will, that you have in your home a small office. It is a pleasant enough office. Its shelves are covered in sentimental knicknacks and sag with books. Your desk is cluttered, but you know where everything is. You keep a small plant on the windowsill that you hope does not die. And you keep a large cardboard box full of slips of paper, next to a jar of dice.
Try this experiment at home. Rip a few sheets of paper into strips. On the strips, write these words, and divide the strips into columns as shown:
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
| creepy | psychics | New England | before |
| evil | ghosts | somewhere else | after |
| helpless | zombies | ||
| benevolent | children | ||
| young | vampires | ||
| old | random objects | ||
| innocent | adults | ||
| corrupt | New Englanders | ||
| crazy | giant bug monster(s) | ||
| rabid | giant rodent monster(s) | ||
| murderous | convicts | ||
| mysterious | mailmen | ||
| stupid | representative of Satan | ||
| optimistic | farmers | ||
| noble | plague | ||
| vile | random animal | ||
| dumb | graveyard, haunted house, or cornfield | ||
| dead | indians |
Now draw a slip of paper at random from each of the three columns, and plug the results into the following sentence, drawing a new slip each time a column number appears again:
“A group of [1] [2] (or perhaps a single representative of same) does something incredibly stupid and runs afoul of a(n) [1] [2] in a relatively isolated area in [3], and deaths result ([4] the Apocalypse).”
Congratulations: You are now Stephen King.
Don’t believe me? Try it. Some results will be ludicrous, but most of them will sound familiar:
“A group of innocent New Englanders (or perhaps a single representative of same) does something incredibly stupid and runs afoul of a Mysterious Representative of Satan (before the Apocalypse).” Now come up with a catchy and unprofound slogan — something like, “Give me what I want and I’ll go away,” and you’ve got Storm of the Century.
Or how about:
“A group of young adults (or perhaps a single representative of same) does something incredibly stupid and runs afoul of an evil random object in a relatively isolated area in Somewhere Else, and deaths result (before the Apocalypse).”
Now glance out the window and notice your own car in the driveway, supplying the random object. Congratulations: today you’ll write Christine.
Or perhaps:
“A group of noble adults (or perhaps a single representative of same) does something incredibly stupid and runs afoul of a mysterious representative of Satan in a relatively isolated area in somewhere else, and deaths result (after the Apocalypse).”
Hey, settle in for the weekend — you’re going to write The Stand. Step it up, because the editor needs it Monday.
Keep going; you’ll be amazed at the number of plausible hits you get, when you apply a little imagination. There’s one critical piece still missing, however: You need to know how your new book is going to end. You need a real twist here, something that will blow the reader away. You must do something different — something that sets your latest story apart from your other three hundred billion stories.
Go back to our chart and pick an ending at random from Columns 1 and 2. It must fit the sentence, “It was all done by a [1][2] or many of the same.”
Thus, when you ask yourself, for example, “How should my new miniseries Rose Red end?” the answer is, “It was all done by a Creepy Zombie or many of the same.” The same formula fits absolutely every Stephen King ending. I’m not kidding.
Finished! Now call your Agent, and tell him to give you what you want or you’ll go away. He’ll chuckle politely, he’ll cut you a check, and you’ll laugh all the way to bank.